


But It Wasn't A Dream

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Series: Tumblr made me do it [4]
Category: Supernatural, The Wizard Of Oz (1939)
Genre: Assume every tag comes with a "freeform", Author washes their hands of this, Benny Lafitte as the Tinman, Could be read as preslash, Crowley as the Scarecrow, Dean Winchester wearing a dress, Gen, Very very VERY loosely based on some kind of canon, feel free to point out mistakes but don't expect them corrected, neither beta- nor proofread, not sure which canon though, or even estabished relationship, or post-slash, rating is for language, whatever floats your boat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 15:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10642710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: This is not the retelling of "The Wizard of Oz" you wanted, neither is it the retelling you needed, but it doesn't change the fact that Castiel is dying and Dean is wearing a dress, and there are mercifully fewer zombies than originally planned.





	

__

_“Imagine if you’d please,” Metadouche said to the dark haired man slumping in the chair across from his, “two lonely and lost woodland creatures whisked away beyond the rainbow looking for” a string of slurred noises rudely interrupted Metadouche as he was trying his best to set the scene to his captive audience, and as such he couldn’t help the glare leveled at the other.  
“Or don’t imagine it then; it’s not as if I have to tell you how this thing goes, after all I could just show you.” A wrinkled, old hand raised, clammy fingers making their way towards the other man’s forehead, unintelligible, panicked noises making their way out of the torn up throat (as if they couldn’t bypass the gaping hole and make it all the way to the mouth to roll of the tongue) as if wanting to protest the action;not that Metadouche cared so he simply placed his fingers on his audience’s too cold skin letting him see what was happening to the two idiots in his charge._

  


Dean Winchester was not amused, something he was going to make very clear the instant he found anybody to whom he could voice his displeasure. Being a hunter for nearly four decades had shown him some pretty weird shit, but this took the prize - and that was even taking into account Sam being turned into a fricking talking car and the goddamn Devil himself walking the earth.  
Sadly (or maybe, all things considered, luckily) there was noone around to whom Dean could complain about this new, highly unnatural development about. Patting himself down he breathed a relieved sigh when he found not only his hunting knife but also the two guns he’d been cleaning when he’d suddenly been enveloped in some weird; muddied; brownish fog only to be deposited here. Wherever here was. What he didn’t have anylonger was his nicely washed out sweats and the faded flannel shirt he’d put on that morning but he was instead wearing a pinafore dress (no, Dean’s never going to admit to actually knowing this shit) in a very familiar blue checkered style, complete with a short sleeved, white blouse, light blue ankle socks and a pair of silver slippers. Sighing in resignation, because experience has taught him that some battles just can’t be won, he sets one foot in front of the other as he follows the yellow brick road towards the horizon.

  


He’s no idea how long he’s been walking but his feet hurt like hell - the slippers might be flat but they’re also at least two sizes too small and are impossible to get off. And yes, he tried slapping his heels together, thank you very much, but he’s still stuck in this barren wasteland of a discount version of fricking Oz - if he didn’t know better he’d think Gabriel was behind this - but as it is he just keeps walking. And walking. Not to mention walking. And then some more walking. And all he needs now is some reporters to come ask him why he keeps walking because there’s just no end to this.  
He throws a tantrum by the time his stomach kindly informs him he’s skipped at least three meals; not that he’s proud of it, but he’s alone so he can do as he goddamn pleases Sammy! and then he walks some more. He’s in the middle of trying to make a dirty haiku (he sucks at it, but it keeps him occupied) when he’s startled out of his own thoughts by what appears to be… singing!?  
“If I only had a brain,” a bodyless voice floats on the wind accompanied by some garbled noises that might be words, might be something else entirely, and Dean’s hand automatically goes for the gun strapped to his right leg, while frantically trying to locate the owner of the voice.  
The only thing worse than having to wear this highly ill fitting outfit (the shoes aren’t the only thing a little too small) is the fact that Crowley is suddenly materializing on the road in front of him. If Dean was asked to describe it, it looks like somebody cut off the King of Hell’s face and glued it to a burlap sack, which was then filled with what appears to be straw before tying a rope around the bottom to keep it in some kind of head-like shape. He’s never seen the demon in such a horrendous outfit before, but on the other hand, glass houses and all that; so Dean just raises his hand and waves a greeting at Crowley and then he’s suddenly sitting on the road, some invisible tongue slobbering all over his face and of course whoever did this just had to make sure Dean would get his own little Toto.  
”Enough,” he tries to say to the hellhound, but moving something that’s at least three times your own size that you can’t actually see is kinda difficult and Juliet always was a more affectionate sort than the rest of them, so she just continues giving him the tongue bath of a lifetime that he never appreciated even if he didn’t mind her presence.  
”Seems like we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto” and he can’t help but cringe because apparently he just had to go there. Luckily that’s when Crowley finally gets close enough that Dean notices his outstretched arms and the stiff way he moves his legs, not to mention the everlasting chorus of “if I only had a brain” (a small part of Dean’s brain can’t help but wonder where the music he can hear comes from); it takes him embarrassingly long to connect all the dots and come up with  
“you’re a zombie scarecrow” even if it’s worth the eyeroll that causes Crowley to trip over his own feet and fall face first onto what Dean would guess to be Juliet’s hind legs; she growls at the demon who’s trying to get up but it seems difficult when bits and pieces are falling off of him with his efforts.  
“What would you even do if you had a brain”, Dean finally asks, hoping that will stop the King of Hell singing the same line over and over again while breathing through his mouth when the stench of molded straw and rotting flesh reaches his nose.  
“None of your business, Squirrel”, the demon replies, charming as ever, only to continue singing “then perhaps I’ll deserve ya, and be even worthy of ya, if I only had a brain.” Which is a statement Dean’s not going to touch with a ten foot pole because who knows who’s listening in on this conversation and he so does not need to incriminate himself, opting to concentrate on getting Juliet to finally move enough that he can get upright and then he goes to help Crowley to his feet.  
“You wouldn’t happen to know where we are, would you?” because sure, Dean knows this place but that doesn’t mean he can’t hope he’s wrong and that there’s a perfectly good explanation for why it looks like they’re in some weird movie crossover. Crowley’s answer is sinking his teeth into Dean’s hand, making him scream in pain (a scarecrow he might be but Crowley sure has some awfully sharp teeth to go with the get-up) and trying to yank his hand away. He doesn’t succeed until Crowley finally opens his mouth and when Dean realizes the other is actually chewing on a piece of his hand there’s no stopping the bile rising in his throat before he proceeds to throw up everything he’s ever eaten.  
“It smells like angels. And I still need brains; you don’t have too much of that, Squirrel.” And with that he simply grips Dean’s hand and rips off the right sleeve of his white blouse, wrapping the fabric around the wound before dragging the poor, shell shocked hunter along with him.

  


They walk and walk and walk. And then they walk some more and it’s still terribly boring and terribly deserted and Crowley seems to still be stuck on his one songline, and if he doesn’t sing, he keeps bemoaning the fact that he doesn’t have a brain, and then go into great detail as to what he’d do if he had one (it’s not pretty and if Dean wasn’t so busy getting scarred for life in ways even Alistair never managed, he’d be offended Crowley didn’t think he had enough brain), Juliet is a heavy, steady presence at his right side keeping as far away from her master as possible but close enough to possibly leap at Dean’s defence if the fricking scarecrow zombie decides Dean might make a decent snack after all.  
After far too much walking - and by now Dean’s kind of praying for his feet to just fall the heck off - they see a little house with little people milling about. Tired and hungry as he is he doesn’t really think it through as he makes his way towards it. In retrospect, and surrounded by a bunch of gnawed on bodies, it wasn’t his brightest idea, but at least Crowley’s quiet, and they rest a little before moving on.

  


There’s no telling the amount of time that’s passed when Dean spots the apple trees. Wary - he remembers that scene and there’s no way he wants to deal with having apples thrown at him no matter how hungry he might be (Crowley may have eaten well earlier, but there hadn’t been actual food at the little house) - he moves closer, only to be stopped in his tracks by a new voice singing “if I only had a heart”. He throws his arms up in the air, because what has he ever done to deserve this shit, and then makes his way in the direction he thinks the voice came from.  
He’s not sure if he’s surprised when he sees Benny with a funnel on his head and dressed in what appears to be a metal barrel and something that may have been a chimney once. He probably gets a little too close because the next thing he knows is pain even worse than before as sharpened metal bites into his other hand and then he’s missing yet another bite-sized bit of himself; this time he doesn’t throw up, only sighs in defeat and waits for the next insult. And thank god he doesn’t have to wait long, before the vampire turned zombie spits out his flesh and declares  
“too much heart”, before he falls into Crowley’s arms and then they both burst into tears singing their never ending refrain of “if I only had a brain/heart”. Dean thinks this is getting really old, really fast so he makes sure to roll his eye excessively at them as he tears of his other sleeve to bandage the second wound.

  


_For a few blessed moments Metadouche is quiet and Castiel can spend his time thinking of a way to get out of this mess. Sadly, with the grace leaking slowly but steadily his thoughts won’t gather enough for him to make a plan, and once the other starts talking all Castiel wants to do is just close his eyes and keep dreaming._  
_”I used to jerk off to that song_ all _the time,” Metadouche says with a breathy voice, his eyes seeing something far away and Cas does not need to know this!, “even chafed the halo badly enough I had to restrain myself, but by Father it was so worth it.” (Cas might throw up a little, but it’s hardly noticeable what with all the light already spilling from the gaping wound).  
”Oh well,” Metadouche continues, “that was then and this is now. What’d you say, we get this show on the road?” Which is all the warning he gets before those disgusting fingers are back on his skin, and he gets the front row seat to whatever’s happening._

  


Dean’s going out of his mind! He didn’t care that Crowley and Benny were holding hands while skipping down the yellow brick road; he didn’t care that the next time they stumbled across a house with people it became a massacre; he could even deal with the insulting and not knowing where Sammy was - but then there was the singing!, the same six words over and over, constantly repeated - and you listen to a scarecrow and a tinman sing the same six words while stuffing their faces with something akin to human flesh and don’t go insane… Dean dares you! - and there was no stopping them. They didn’t run out of breath, they didn’t need to sleep and no amount of bullets through their heads could kill them, which meant Dean had to endure, seeing as he couldn’t escape them either.  
That, of course, had been before they reached the field. Endless rows of corn taller than the three of them standing on each other's shoulders that Crowley had said they should walk through because “it reeks of angels, darling squirrel, and none of you have a better plan.” So they made their way through the corn maze, and while Crowley and Benny were busy skipping along hand in hand, Dean was trying to reach the corn and possibly get something to eat; silently bemoaning that it wasn’t endless rows of medium rare steak rather than raw vegetables and swearing to himself that when he got out of there he’d go somewhere to eat his own weight in meat, Dorothy getup be damned!

  


The Emerald City is a pretty as Dean always thought it would be (of course he’s read “The Wizard of Oz”. Who the fuck do you think read Sammy’s bedtime stories? Their dad!?) but as completely deserted as the rest of the place had been (if you manages to forget about those times where Crowley and Benny stopped for a snack) and Dean’s worry is starting to overshadow his annoyance with the whole thing. Crowley’s “don’t get your panties in a twist” doesn’t help either and if Dean’d had more bullets he’d have aimed for something far more sensitive than the King of Hell’s head and hoped it would carry over if they ever get to be their “real” selves again. They explore for what feels like hours before they finally stumble across a door with a big sign proclaiming 

**Behind this door is OZ**

which they obviously open only to walk into a pitch black room.  
They have a brief moment of slapstick comedy (walking into each other and not getting anywhere) before they manage to find a switch and once light floods the room Dean instantly regrets wasting almost two clips of ammo on Crowley; because that there is a fricking werewolf, and Dean is so not up for this. The thing lunges, teeth and claw and fur on display but before anybody (Dean’s not entirely sure when they lost Juliet, but gone she is) can do anything, some redhead dude with beard and wearing a greenish suit is standing in front of them, telling them he’s Oz and he would like them to get the heck out of town so that he can get back to a zombie free existence, and the poor munchkins can come back home - seems Crowley and Benny have been snacking on the flying monkeys so apparently no greater loss to anybody. And Dean would be happy to go home, but the stupid slippers don’t work, so if the werewolf have any suggestions he’d welcome them and be grateful.

  


Nobody probably cares how Dean, Crowley and Benny go from talking to Oz to sitting on Metadouche and if it hadn’t been for the fact that Cas is apparently slowly dying Dean wouldn’t even care about Metadouche, but Cas is and Dean does even if it’s a little pointless seeing as he neither has an angel blade, holy oil or the time to make a banishing sigil. Crowley and Benny rolling around in not usual useless style doesn’t help matters much and even though they’re apparently back to normal it takes approximately five seconds for the three of them to be chained to the wall. Cas garbles something only Dean’s able to decipher as being an annoyed/disappointed lecture about how he (Dean, that is) should’ve stayed away, stayed safe; to which he merely huffs and sticks out his tongue (he’s still wearing a dress, he’s allowed).  
Metadouche seems to be gearing up for the no. 1 villain speech of all times when suddenly the door bursts open and Sam stumbles through, angel blade poised in a way that when he actually does fall over it ends up buried in Metadouche’s back and the world goes black.

  


**Epilogue**

Dean wakes up on his memory foam mattress, held close to a firm chest and with the smell of his own body wash tickling his nose. He lets loose a small hum of contentment as he snuggles closer to the body, glad all the weird stuff of the last few days seem to be finally over.

**Author's Note:**

> [bc technically the title is a part of the story](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/159012820745/aprils-prompt-posting-dates-15-18th-of-apri)


End file.
